


Safe Haven

by DyslexicSquirrel, kalika_999



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Shifters, Curious!Bucky, Eventual Smut, M/M, Merman!Bucky, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, True Mates, Werewolf!Steve, bearded!steve, lonley!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21994315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicSquirrel/pseuds/DyslexicSquirrel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: It’s hard out there for a lone wolf.Steve has been on his own for years, since being banished from his pack, constantly on the move. He was resigned to a life alone.Until the unexpected swam into his life.Steve never thought he would meet his mate. He definitely didn’t think his mate would be anything other than a wolf. One thing he’s always known, though, is that life is full of surprises.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 50
Kudos: 375
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I’m so excited to finally post my contribution to the Marvel Reverse Big Bang. The art by Kalika_999 was so good that I was immediately inspired. 
> 
> Thank you so much to flighty for beta reading this in the eleventh hour. I appreciate it so much! 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys! ❤️
> 
> P.S. Rating is basically only for the second to last chapter so 😂

“Can I get you anything else, honey?” 

Steve lifted his eyes from the copy of On the Road he’d picked up at a thrift store called Odds & Ends out of some twisted sense of irony when he got to Lexington and decided this was just as good a place in Maine as any to stay for a while. After spending time in coastal towns out west from Washington to California for the last decade, Steve had learned that jobs on fishing boats were good money if you could get them. Maine had plenty of coast and it was far enough away from New York that he hoped he didn't need to worry about running into anyone he knew from a life that wasn't his anymore. Being on this side of the country made him nostalgic. Staring out at theits white capped waves of the Atlantic had always brought him a strange sense of peace. 

He smiled up at Angie. “Just some more coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“Course.” Free hand propped on her jean clad hip, Angie refilled his mug. There was a pen tucked behind her ear, holding back her blonde curls, an order pad in the pocket of her white apron. “You know, if you weren’t so nice I’d be mad at you for always taking up tables like this and cutting into my tips.” 

“You’re the proprietor; you’re not supposed to get tipped,” he pointed out. In the month Steve had been here, Angie’s Diner had become a favorite place to hang out. It beat sitting in his room at the Cove Inn.

“Don’t tell anyone else that,” she tossed over her shoulder with a wink when an older man at another table signaled for her. 

As she walked off, Steve sighed, the smile slipping from his face as he sunk further into the padded booth. Gazing out the window, he watched the people outside walk past, not for the first time envying humans their ability to make their own family so easily. They could pick up and go somewhere new, date, get married, find friends. 

Steve didn’t have that option. 

For a werewolf, your pack was your life. If you didn’t have one, you were an outcast. Lone wolves were looked at with suspicion. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you could find a new pack to integrate into, but not for someone like Steve—especially not after all this time. He was too much of an alpha wolf now for a pack leader to chance letting him stay in their territory. They saw Steve as a threat. Maybe if he’d found a new pack when he was younger… 

But no pack in the tri-state area had been willing to risk pissing off Schmidt and he had been too busy licking his wounds after his banishment, literally and figuratively. Disobeying your Alpha’s order came with a severe punishment. An Alpha demanded loyalty from their pack. If the pack didn’t respect the Alpha, they couldn’t lead effectively. That was what Steve had been taught, but Schmidt told him to kill a human who stumbled on their lands, to prove himself, when he came of age at eighteen. 

He’d said no. 

The human hadn’t known what he’d done, shaking and crying, begging them to let him go. 

“You are a disappointing whelp,” his Alpha had growled, German accent still thick even after so many years in the States. He was Old World to his core; ruled his pack with an iron fist, followed the old ways and trespassers, no matter the species, weren’t to be left alive. His hand squeezed around Steve’s neck, fingertips shifting into claws that dug into his skin, rivulets of blood seeping from the wounds. Steve kicked his spindly legs futility. He’d been so small back then, breakable. 

He was tossed to the ground at his Alpha’s feet. Steve might have been weak, but he was also stubborn. His mom always worried it would get him into trouble, but his mom was gone, and now he’d screwed up. How much worse could it get? He already knew what his punishment would entail. So, Steve pushed up on shaky legs and raised his chin, looking his Alpha straight in the eye. It was a challenge and everyone knew it. Didn’t matter that Steve couldn’t back it up, no Alpha could let the insubordination slide. 

He’d been beaten half to death before they drove him out of the territory and dumped him on the side of the road. If he wasn’t a shifter, he would have died. Some days, when the loneliness felt like too much to bear, he wished he had. Steve closed his eyes tight and ran a hand over his mouth, his beard bristly against his palm. Stop being so maudlin, he told himself. 

Steve drained his mug and stood, tossing some bills on the table to cover his tab and a tip. No matter how he teased Angie about it, he always left a hefty tip. She sent money back to her mom in Indiana. She did good business, but every little bit helped. He couldn’t break the habit of helping out, chipping in when he could. Angie was human and not his pack, but it eased something inside that was lonely and full of longing. 

He needed to go for a run, work off some of his excess energy. He made his way to his bike outside, tucked his book in one of the saddle bags and revved the engine, roaring out of the parking lot back to the inn. 

* * *

His feet pounded against the sand, the salty sea air filling his lungs. Whether he was on two legs or four, running always helped turn his brain off the way nothing else could. Spending all day on a boat hauling lobster pots until he felt too exhausted to stand couldn’t accomplish what running could. 

Maybe he enjoyed it so much because there was a time he wasn’t able to. He’d been a runt. Premature, the humans called it. But he was small and sickly, even after his first shift. He couldn’t keep up with the other pups, not that it had stopped him from trying. Now he had more strength than he knew what to do with. There were days where Steve wondered if he would have been kicked out of his pack anyway once he grew. Even now he made other packs nervous. It was one of the reasons he moved around so much. 

Shifters might live in secret, but they didn’t live in isolation. They lived in towns and cities or on the fringes, among humans—there was no other way to survive, not anymore. Humanity was too prolific. Staying in towns with mostly human populations bought him time, but eventually the pack whose territory he was in would tell him it was time to move on. The longest he’d ever lasted in one place was six months. 

On days when it all felt like too much, the constant running, he dreamed of a cabin in the woods somewhere, a plot of land he could call his own, territory he could protect, but what would he be protecting it for if he was alone? He longed for a mate and pups, but he would never have it he kept on like this. He needed a pack, but packs didn’t seem to need him.

He’d scented other wolves here in the woods, along the shore, but they didn’t seem to live in Lexington itself, the scents old and faded. He hadn’t seen them and they hadn’t tried to find him. Steve let it lay for now. They’d find him when they wanted to and he wasn’t going to borrow trouble. 

It was drizzling when Steve slowed to a stop, dragging the beanie from his head. He didn’t need it for warmth, but humans gave him odd looks when he didn’t dress weather appropriately, and fall in New England was chill and damp. He got away with wearing shorts when he was running if he threw on a hat and a hoodie. Hands on his hips, he tipped his head back, eyes closed, and let the light rain wash over his skin, droplets sticking to his beard, his eye lashes. He stood there for so long, it slicked his hair down against his skull. He probably could do with a trim. He was starting to look like a werewolf even in human form. The thought brought had his lips curving, but it was fleeting. 

Releasing a breath, Steve slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the rain drops, and turned to head back the way he had come when something out in the water caught his eye. He frowned, head cocked, waiting for it to appear again, but it never did. Could have been a dolphin, though he wasn’t sure if it was the right time of year for sightings out here. Wasn’t big enough to be a whale, and besides it had been too close to shore. 

Steve shook his head and took off down the beach. He was probably just seeing things.


	2. Chapter 2

“Good work today, men,” Philips barked from the wheelhouse. The captain of the _ Liberty Star _ , the fishing boat Steve worked on, was a gruff son of a bitch, but he was a good man. You never had to wonder where you stood and Steve appreciated that in a human. He said what he meant and meant what he said. The fact that he took a chance on Steve when he asked for a job didn’t hurt. “Now, get the hell off my boat.” 

The other men chuckled and started for the dock. Steve lingered, checking the pots to make sure they were secure even though they’d been checked and rechecked already, straightening up ropes and hooks and buoys that were already straightened. He didn’t want to go back to the inn nor did he want to follow the other crew members to the Bait and Tackle, the local bar. 

The moon was full tonight and he felt restless, like his skin didn’t fit his body. Humans got more wrong than they did right when it came to werewolves; the full moon didn’t force a werewolf to shift, but it did bring their animals closer to the surface. Closing himself in with a bunch of drunk humans was a recipe for disaster. He wasn’t a mindless killing machine, or a lust crazed teenager who couldn’t keep his clothes on like Hollywood depicted, but if he forgot himself, got into a fight and used his full strength? He wasn’t going to risk it. Once night fell, he could shift and take off into the woods. There was a chance the local wolves would be out there, too, but Steve would have to take that chance. His luck in that department was still holding. 

“Didn’t I tell you to go home?” 

He looked at Phillips over his shoulder, not surprised to see him standing there. Not much could sneak up on a werewolf. “No, sir. I believe your exact words were ‘get the hell off my boat.’”

“Same difference,” Phillips snorted, eyes narrowed in his direction. His hands were in the pockets of his windbreaker, the breeze blowing in off the water ruffling the hair on his head as he stared at Steve. “And don’t ‘sir’ me. This isn’t the army.” 

“Sorry, sir.” 

Phillips rolled his eyes, head shaking back and forth. “You’re a strange one, Rogers.” 

Steve shrugged and finished putting the coiled length of rope up on the hook. Phillips didn’t know the half of it. The captain clapped him on the back. 

“Now, come on,” Phillips said and Steve let himself be led toward the dock. “I have to get home before the wife kills me.” 

* * *

The trees whipped past as the wolf ran through the dense foliage, leaping over fallen logs and bushes. His large paws were surprisingly silent as they hit the loamy earth. The local fauna hid when he came near, sensing a predator nearby, but the large gray wolf didn’t have any interest in hunting tonight. He just wanted to feel the wind in his fur, and the dirt against the pads on his paws.

After he was exiled, Steve spent more time than not in his wolf. It was easier to find shelter and food as an animal than a human with no skills and not a lot of education and no identification. Werewolves’ slow aging meant they often needed to rely on fake IDs when their physical appearance stopped matching their birthdate. Steve himself was probably closer to Philips’ age than any of the other men he worked with, but looked like he was in his thirties. He watched humans, picked up odd jobs that paid him under the table and didn’t care who he was, found someone who could make him a false identity complete with social security card and birth certificate when he’d saved up enough. It was good enough for his purposes, allowing him to get better paying jobs, temporary places to stay. He had even gotten his GED just because he could. Pretending to be human, living without his pack, was difficult. But he shoved it all down, ignored the hole in his chest. Later, he told himself. Think about it later. But later never came. 

Steve stopped at the treeline, staring at the moonlit beach, and sighed, more a puff of air in this form. Head cocked, he listened for any sound to indicate he wasn’t alone, scented the air for threats. Whoever these other wolves were, they weren’t anywhere near where Steve had been running. This section of beach, a cove formed by the cliffs jutting out into the water, was deserted—not surprising since it was usually empty even during the day, close to the nature preserves, away from the docks. 

He headed for the shore, the ground beneath his paws changing from dirt and leaves to rocks and sand. His eyes were drawn to the moon, hanging so full above him in the night sky, almost obscured behind the clouds. Muzzle raised, he howled, the sound carrying through the air, plaintive. If wolves were capable of shedding tears, they may have fallen to the porous ground beneath him, soaking into the earth, mixing with the salt of the ocean. 

There was a sound far off, an echo, a reply. Miles away other wolves answered. It should have been what kept his attention—there were werewolves out there trying to talk to him. Not to run him off; the howls sounded questioning, curious. They weren’t aggressive like other packs he had run across. It was a chance to connect to others of his kind, but Steve was barely paying them mind. 

A soft gasp had his ears flicking toward the sea, the rest of his head following and for a moment he stilled, captivated by the form of a man in the surf—skin bare, gilded in moonlight. Droplets of water ran down his body, following the contours of muscle, tracing the hollows and swells. His hair was dark, plastered to his head and though Steve was some distance away his sharp sight could still detect the color of his eyes, blue like stormy seas. His lips were parted, eyes wide. 

And no wonder. Werewolves weren’t hulking, bipedal beasts, but they were large. They resembled normal wolves, but bigger like prehistoric species. Seeing a werewolf unprepared could be frightening for a human. Add to that the fact that Steve’s wolf was larger than most and it was probably downright terrifying. I won’t hurt you, he wanted to say, but lacked a voice to make the words. He took a step forward, paw sinking into the sand, and the man backed up, crouching down, hands raised. The waves coming in with the tide didn’t seem to affect him. Steve’s nose twitched, something niggling at the back of his mind. 

Wait, Steve thought. Where the hell was he going to go? Did he have a boat somewhere further out? But then why was he swimming to shore? Humans didn’t normally swim this time of year, either. It was too cold for them, especially without a wetsuit, and Steve was almost certain the man was naked. The water obscured him enough that Steve couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want this man to leave.

He started running forward, not thinking about how that would look, a giant wolf chasing you down, until his paws touched water. Then he was on two feet and stumbling a bit as he shifted, trying to correct his error, but the man was already gone having dove under the surface. Steve’s eyes hadn’t left the place where the man had been standing, where he’d disappeared, and they widened because… he swore he’d seen a tail, a fin. Like a fish, but bigger, right where he’d gone under. 

But that was crazy. People didn’t turn into fish. Wouldn’t he have known if they did? Werewolves, yes, there were even other species of shifters, though Steve hadn’t ever met any himself. He had heard stories. So, if merpeople (he felt silly even thinking the word) existed, wouldn’t someone be talking about it? 

He was still moving, the water reached his waist when he stopped, eyes still locked onto that spot, hoping the man would reappear. The waves buffeted him, the chill sinking into his skin until he felt it even with his higher body temperature. He stayed there until his skin started to turn pruney.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a warm day for October. The sun was still bright, but slowly starting it’s decent. There were a million other things Steve could have been doing. Trying to find the wolves that had been talking to him a few nights ago, for one. All he had wanted since losing his birth pack was to find another place to belong. He could have found them if he wanted to, and he kept telling himself he did, but he wasn’t. 

Instead of shifting and putting his nose to work, he was sitting on an outcrop, watching the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of the… well, the merman. The more days that passed, and the more he replayed the event over and over, the surer he was that it hadn't been a hallucination or a diver wearing one of those fake tails—he’d looked them up on the internet. The man hadn’t had any other equipment, no underwater lights to see where he was going. Human eyesight wasn’t good enough to see underwater at night and swimming blind around here, with the jagged shoreline, would have been tantamount to suicide. 

Unless the person was a freaking mershifter and could see. Shifter was the right term because Steve would bet money that the man had legs before he went under the water. Staring out at the horizon, Steve found himself thinking weird things. Well, maybe it wasn’t weird. He wasn’t exactly sure what he should or shouldn’t be thinking about in a situation like this. What would his taille look like? Steve hadn't been able to make out too much detail in the seconds before he disappeared. What would it feel like? Would it be smooth or would there be scales? Did he have gills? That would make sense, how else would he breathe? If they had to constantly come up for air like a whale or a dolphin, they couldn’t have stayed hidden. 

That was another thing. How did no one know about them with things like radar and underwater expeditions? When werewolves shifted they looked like wolves—large one, but still wolves. It was one of the reasons other shifter species stayed in areas their animal form was common, or could conceivably show up without raising suspicion of escaping from a zoo. That way if a human saw them it was easier to brush off. But being half man, half fish would be harder to explain. He had researched that, too: sightings over the years of merpeople, but the majority of them sounded like crazed ravings, had been disproven, or came with a footnote of occurring in a time when people thought the Earth was flat—not exactly reliable. 

Days passed like that—after work, Steve would sit here, in just a t-shirt and jeans, the flannel shirt, down vest, boots and hat he wore strewn on the rocks beside him. Just waiting, life on hold, in suspended animation—hoping for a sighting. He felt like something was missing and couldn’t put his finger on what. He hadn’t been to Angie’s in a few days. He couldn’t stand being cooped up and only went back to his room at the inn to sleep. Peggy, who owned the place with her husband Daniel, had spotted him on his way out one morning for a run, asking if everything was alright since she hadn’t seen him around. 

“I’m fine, just…” He gave her a lopsided smile and shrugged, slipping his keys into his pocket. “Been feeling a little off.”

Werewolves rarely got sick, but Peggy didn’t know what he was and he couldn’t exactly tell her he was getting what amounted to werewolf cabin fever and was obsessed with getting another glimpse of a merman. He didn’t want to get committed. 

“Well, if you need anything, let me know.” Her face was wreathed in concern, but her red painted lips curved up. Tone wry, she said, “I make a mean chicken noodle soup. As long as it comes out of a can.” 

He chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll be okay.” 

Everyone in this town was so nice. Some of them were a little  _ too _ nice, he thought, remembering Lorraine from the thrift store getting a bit closer than necessary the one time he’d gone in there. Steve has smelled her perfume on his skin for days even after he showered. His nose wrinkled thinking about it. 

Stretched out against the rocks, hands folded over his stomach, he closed his eyes, drawing the salt- tinged air into his lungs. He was just starting to wonder how comfortable it would be to sleep here (probably not too bad if he were in fur) and if that would be going a bit too far into his obsession when he heard a splash. Different than the waves crashing against the rocks, it made him sit up, scan them water. 

And there he was, head and shoulders above the waves, watching Steve with his head cocked to the side. He was even more beautiful in the early evening light than he had been in the moonlight. He blinked, coming infinitesimally closer, gliding effortlessly through the water. He was a merman, though, so that made sense. Steve felt a laugh bubbling up in his throat: of disbelief, of wonder, with a bit of hysteria because how was this even happening? How could this—how could  _ he— _ be real? 

Moving slowly, Steve pushed up until he was crouched on the rocks and when the other shifter moved that much closer, Steve climbed down until he was perched just above the water’s surface. It lapped at his bare feet, soaked the bottoms of his jeans. Everything else faded to the background, because Steve’s world shrank to the creature before him, coming to a stop right in front of him, hands gripping the rock on either side of his feet. Staring down into those storm blue eyes, catching his scent. There was something about it, but he still couldn’t figure out  _ what _ . 

He smelled like the wind before the rain. Made him think of home—a thing he hadn’t had since his mom died. He dug his fingers into his knees so he didn’t reach out and touch him, so scared to chase him away. Because he blurted out, “Hi,” sure he sounded like a moron. Then wistfully added, “I wish you could tell me your name.” 

“It doesn’t translate into English, but the land dwellers I’ve met have called me Bucky.” He gave Steve a crooked smile. “It’s a nickname?” It came out like a question, like he wasn’t sure if he was using the word correctly. “For Buchanan. I read it on the side of a boat once.” 

“Bucky.” Steve smiled. “I like that, it suits you. I’m Steve.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

He head was tipped to look up at Steve. It was unconscious, but it was so similar to a wolf baring their neck in submission that Steve had to swallow hard. It wasn't the way Bucky meant it. He never had this much trouble remembering around humans. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Bucky wasn’t human anymore than Steve was and Steve hadn’t been around shifters much for a long time. He didn’t want this to end. “How do you know English?” 

“I do a lot of things I’m not supposed to,” Bucky said after hesitating, then shrugged. “I was always curious.” 

Steve didn’t know what that meant. He wasn’t allowed to learn another language? A furrow formed between his brows. “Curious about what?” 

“Humans.” His eyes lit up with excitement. “They’re so interesting. I thought you were one until the other night.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, feeling bad for chasing him off. “My wolf can be a bit… intimidating.” 

“I wasn’t scared,” he said softly. “I thought you were beautiful.” 

He was caught off guard. He thought Steve’s wolf was beautiful? Wait, he’d thought Steve was a human  _ until  _ the other night? Had he seen him before without Steve being aware? 

“You’ve been on land before? And… you’ve seen me?” Of course Bucky has been on land before, he chided himself. How else would he have learned English? But how had Steve not noticed? He didn’t think he would have been able to ignore him if he had a tail or was walking on two legs.

“At least once a month for the last few years. Before that, when I was younger, whenever I could sneak away.” The pale skin of his cheeks flushed. “I saw you on the boat. The one with the fishing boxes. And a couple times around town.” 

Fishing boxes? Maybe he meant the pots on the Liberty Star. He tried for a joke. “Were you stalking me?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know that word.” 

“Never mind,” Steve said, chuckling. Bucky spoke the language well, but seemed he didn’t know everything. “It was a joke. A bad one, obviously.” 

Before Steve realized what he was doing, his fingers were brushing Bucky’s cheek. His skin was soft beneath Steve’s work roughened hands. Not even shifter healing had been able to get rid of all the callouses he’d built up over the years. This close he could see the delicate gills on the side of his neck, blue around the edges of the frills of skin. Bucky gasped and Steve jerked his hand back. “Sorry.” 

His eyes were wide, lips parted. Bucky’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, halting him. “It’s fine.” 

“How does no one know you exist?” He couldn’t help but ask, voice hushed. How had  _ Steve _ not known he existed? Bucky had been in town and Steve has been oblivious. He wanted to kick himself in the ass for that. 

“Magic,” he told Steve, like it was obvious and maybe it was. What else could it have been? He made a mental note to find out more about that later. “We were in danger. Humans they… they used us.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, wanted it to be a silent oath to himself that he would protect Bucky, but it slipped past his lips without any input from his brain. 

“I can take care of myself, wolf,” Bucky informed Steve with a smirk. Then it softened and he tangled his fingers with Steve’s. “But I appreciate it.”

Time slowed, or so it seemed, the silence broken only by the sound of the ocean and the beating of Bucky’s heart. It was fast, but steady, soothing. All too soon, Bucky looked away, eyes clouded with sadness. “I have to go.” 

“Can I see you again?” 

Bucky’s eyes found his again. “Yes.” 

Those two words were a balm to his battered soul. Because as he watched Bucky swim away, Steve realized what had been floating at the edges of his consciousness, why he smelled like everything Steve ever wanted, why he had been so restless and on-edge: Steve had just met his mate. 


	4. Chapter 4

Steve waited on the beach everyday like a loyal hound anticipating is owner’s return. He felt a little ridiculous, but that didn’t make him stop. Werewolves did tend to get single- minded where their mates were involved. In the week since first talking to Bucky, Steve had only seen him once, but that one visit had stayed at the forefront of his mind since. Sitting on top of a blanket laid out over the sand, Steve had been keeping vigil and Bucky’s head appeared above the water. He disappeared only to emerge from the surf moments later, walking toward Steve and his breath caught. His eyes zeroed in on one of the water droplets that fell from Bucky’s shoulder length hair, down his shoulders, following the dips and swells of his body, the lean but well-defined muscles. He was a work of art, Michelangelo’s David come to life. Sketching was something he hadn’t indulged in in years, but he felt the need now. 

Maybe Bucky would let him, if Steve asked. Like this and in his other form. He wanted every part of Bucky he could have. Bucky fascinated him. His hands fisted in the blanket so he would stay put. Steve wasn’t going to chase him down again. He still didn’t know how he was supposed to tell Bucky they were mates. Not all shifters had them. What if mershifters didn’t and Buckyu my wanted no part of it? It wasn’t like Steve would die or could never had a relationship with someone else, but being fated mates brought a deeper connection. 

When Bucky reached the edge of the blanket, he paused, feeling the fabric with his toes before stepping onto it and sitting next to Steve. Steve shifted to the side, trying not to crowd the smaller shifter, but Bucky only closed the distance, and placed his hand over Steve’s where ithe still fisted the blanket. He leaned closer, and Steve caught a new wave of his scent, carried by the ocean breeze, so fresh and clean. His eyes fell closed and he breathed it in. They opened again when he felt Bucky press even closer. 

“You’re so warm,” Bucky observed, his voice deep and smooth. 

Steve couldn’t detect any signs that Bucky felt the cold of the fall air—no shivering or goosebumps. Living in the water in this area, he must be used to the cold. “Werewolves run hot.” 

“It’s nice.” Bucky leaned against his shoulder, other hand going to Steve’s bicep. Seemed merpeople were as without the concept of personal boundaries as werewolves were among their pack mates. He had forgotten how nice it was, to touch someone else. Bucky might not be as strong as he was, Steve didn’t know enough about mer abilities to say one way or the other, but shifters as a rule healed faster than humans. Steve had tried having a relationship with a human or two over the years, craving contact, a connection with another being, but he was always afraid of hurting them. Even when he was smaller, he was still stronger than a human—it hadn’t been worth the worry in the end. Or lying about who he really was. 

Bucky didn’t care than Steve was a lone wolf. Didn’t care that he was a wolf at all, had thought he was a human and still wanted to be near him, touch him. He wanted to grab on and never let go. It was making him greedy. It was also bringing back memories of his childhood: curling up between his parents to sleep, his mother scent marking him before he left for school, play fighting with his dad. 

“You’re furry, too,” Bucky laughed, fingers running across his beard, like it tickled. 

“Hairy,” he murmured, leaning into Bucky’s hand. 

“What?” 

“Hairy, not furry.”

“What’s the difference?” Confusion was stamped across his face. 

“A beard is hairy,” he said, gesturing to the facial hair. “Furry is… well, it might be easier to show you.” He was suddenly nervous, as he stood and pulled his t-shirt over his head. He paused with his hands on the button of his jeans. It wasn’t modesty that made him hesitate—he might have been living amount humans for decades, but nudity was common in shifter societies, but this was his mate and the first time Bucky would see all of him, human and wolf. He let out a breath, told himself to calm down. 

Jeans and boxers were pushed down and kicked to the side. Steve rolled his shoulders and inhaled to steady himself. Shifting was second nature, but the thought lurked that this might scare him off. Not being afraid of Steve from a distance, at night, was different than not being wary of a wolf the size of a horse standing right next to you, especially when you lived most of your life underwater and weren’t used to dogs, let alone their larger cousins. He took a few steps back to give himself more room and let his wolf free, skin stretching, bones shifting; gray and white fur covering his body, teeth and nails turning sharp. He knew the eyes he gazed at Bucky with blue tinged with gold. 

Steve moved cautiously, scenting the air for any sign of distress, but he needn't have bothered. Bucky didn’t look scared—didn’t smell scared. If Steve had to describe his expression, he would have said it was… he didn’t have a word for it. Somewhere between curiosity and wonder. 

Steve padded even closer, Bucky meeting him halfway, shuffling on his knees, hand outstretched. Steve sniffed his wrist, licking the delicate skin, making Bucky huff a laugh, before pushing his head into Bucky’s palm. His fingers carded through the fur between Steve’s ears, lightly scratching, and Steve’s eyes slid shut. He sat on his haunches and dropped his head to give Bucky better access. Bucky moved closer and somehow Steve wound up draped over Bucky’s lap, a living fur blanket, Bucky’s hands stroking from muzzle to midway down his back. He probably should feel embarrassed that he was letting himself be pet like the world’s biggest lap dog, but it felt too good for that. 

“Okay, I get it now.” Steve cracked an eye. The other shifter gave him a crooked smile. He closed his eyes again, settling more against Bucky’s thighs with a burst of breath, the wolf equivalent of a contented sigh.

“You’re lucky.” Steve lifted his head, tilted it in question. “Living here, with the humans. You can do anything you want. No one telling you what to do, where you can go.” He looked out at the water, pensive. “I have to go back soon.” 

If only he knew. Steve’s entire life had been dictated by others telling him he wasn’t allowed to stay. They had more in common than Bucky thought. Steve wasn’t free, never had been. Wouldn’t be until he stopped running. He’d never had a reason to fight for territory before, but he thought, looking at Bucky, his mate, maybe now he did. He opened his mouth to speak then remembered he couldn’t when he was like this. If he could have Steve would have rolled his eyes at himself. After pulling free of Bucky’s hands, already missing the feel of them, Steve backed up and shifted. 

He was falling fast and it should scare him, but it didn’t. There had to be a way to ease Bucky into the whole mate revelation. Spending more time together would be a start. Bucky was curious about human things. Steve wasn’t very good at courting and he didn’t know anything about mer people’s customs, but he did know what humans did on dates and wolves liked to give potential mates, fated or otherwise, things that made them happy. “Do you like movies?”

“I’ve never seen one,” Bucky said. “But I’ve always wanted to.” 

“We can watch one together. If you want.” He settled against the blanket, leaning back on one hand, taking hold of Bucky’s with the other. “There’s a TV and a DVD player in my room at the Inn.” 

“When?” 

Steve couldn’t help laughing at how excited Bucky looked, practically vibrating with it. “Whenever. We’d need a few hours if we wanted to watch a movie in one sitting.” 

“Can we not sit through the whole thing?” 

“It’s just a saying. It just means, um, doing something at one time.” 

“Oh.” Bucky paused to consider it and nodded. “I’ll be in town most of the day Saturday.” 

Steve frowned, but not unhappy about the news. “Really?”

“I sell jewelry at the… what’s it called? The farmer’s market once a month for money. Did you know that humans don’t like to barter?” 

“I did,” Steve said, one corner of his mouth quirking up at Bucky’s obvious annoyance with humans and their lack of bartering. Everytime he leaned something about Bucky he ended up with more questions. Steve didn’t think he’d ever learn everything about him. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to try, though. He would be more than happy to spend his entire life pursuits no that mission. “So, Saturday. I can pick you up here? Take you into town. We can spend the day together.” 

“I’d like that, but we can meet in town, if that’s okay. I have a unit for storing things where I keep my clothes and everything for my booth.” That made sense. Not like he could keep that stuff underwater. 

“Sounds great.” And he couldn’t wait. Steve had a few days to plan and make sure it was the best day Bucky ever had. 

* * *

“Hey there, buddy.” 

It wasn’t often that someone managed to sneak up on Steve, but when he rounded the corner of a warehouse into the parking lot where he parked his bike there was a shifter he didn’t recognize leaning against the wall. This was his fault; he’d gotten too comfortable. Not even standing up wind should have been enough to catch him off guard. Taller than him, broad, with red hair and a mustache, the shifter grinned at Steve, then stuck a cigar in his mouth. He lit it with a match he struck on the bottom of his boot. 

Steve wasn’t smiling. His expression went hard and he straightened up to his full height. He kept his hands relaxed at his sides, his body loose, ready to take the other wolf down if he needed to. The beginnings of a growl underscoring his words. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Woah there.” His eyebrows shot up, free hand raising, palm out. His chin tipped to the side, deliberately showing Steve his throat. “No one wants you to leave. The opposite actually.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” A werewolf showing their throat to another was never done lightly, but Steve was not about to let his guard down again. 

“Name’s Tim Dugan,” he replied, cigar clamped between his teeth. “But the boys call me Dum Dum.” 

“Boys?” He’d heard at least three other howls the first night he saw Bucky on the beach. But there could have been more. He needed information and Dum Dum—what kind of a nickname was that anyway?—appeared to be in a chatty mood. Bucky would be in Lexington tomorrow and he needed to figure out what was happening before then. A werewolf pissing contest wasn’t going to put Bucky in danger. 

Dum Dum wagged his head back and forth. “Not a pack in the traditional sense, but the guys and I run a bar ‘bout twenty miles outside town. Honestly, I thought this would be unnecessary. Figured you would find us and when you didn’t…” 

He trailed off, shrugged, and Steve crossed his arms over his chest, leveling a look of disbelief at the other wolf. “If you were in my position, what would you have done?” 

Dum Dum opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything. He let out a gusty sigh, chuckled. A wry twist to his lips, he said, “I’m not looking forward to letting Jim know he was right.” 

Before Steve could ask what that meant and who Jim was, Dum Dum clapped his hands and straightened from the wall. “Well, everyone is eager to meet you, so you wanna...?” 

Dum Dum hooked a thumb over his shoulder and Steve saw a beat up, black pick up behind him. Dum Dum held up a set of keys, brows raised in question. Steve sighed. He’d need to do this eventually because if this pack wanted a meeting they wouldn’t give up. But he hadn’t seen any aggression, not since he had come to Lexington. It was worth a chance. If he could stay without bloodshed could he pass up that chance? 

“I’ll follow you,” he said, heading for his motorcycle. 

* * *

Steve followed Dum Dum’s truck into the parking lot, coming to a stop a few spots over. The place wasn’t packed, but there were cars and other motorcycles in the gravel lot. The building itself had seen better days, the weather beaten wood looking so worn Steve wouldn’t have been surprised if it disintegrated. But the neon sign out front was glowing, the windows were clean, and light shined from inside. He could hear music and other sounds of revelry. The overwhelming scent of werewolf had hit Steve a few miles back. Other shifters, too, if he wasn’t mistaken. It made his nose twitch. 

The red haired giant was waiting for him by the door. “Is this a shifter bar?” 

Dum Dum laughed, slapping Steve on the shoulder before pushing the door open. “Something like that.” 

Steve fought the urge to snarl at the gesture and followed him inside the din of the bar, surreptitiously scenting the air since there were humans there, too. Mostly werewolves. But if he wasn’t mistaken there were a few bears and they were usually solitary. He caught a whiff of a shifter he couldn’t identify, almost overpowered by the other scents in the room, but it was everywhere. Whoever it was was here a lot. Shifter bars were rare. This was only the third Steve had ever come across in his travels. He turned to study the other wolf at his side as he followed him deeper into the room, considering him in a different light. 

Dum Dum nodded at some shifter by the bar, indicating a back room, and wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder, steering him in that direction. He simultaneously bristled and wanted to lean into it. Dum Dum was either oblivious—which he doubted—or ignoring it. Steve figured he was either being led to to an ambush or… well, he wasn't really sure. A welcome party? That last thought brought a wry smile to his face. 

The other shifters, five of them, arranged themselves around the room—an office, it turned out. Steve stayed by the door. Dum Dum sat behind the desk; a tall, dark skinned man leaned against the front edge; a shorter man of Asian descent claimed an armchair in the corner; the remaining two, both with brown hair and mustaches, dropped down onto the sofa, sitting close enough that Steve would have guessed they were involved even without the way their scents combined. Dum Dum and the men on the sofa were wolves, but the other two—his nostrils flared, eyes flicking between the two. The taller man smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bear. In case you were wondering.” 

Steve jerked involuntarily. Bears and wolves didn’t usually mix, a bear showing up at a wolf run shifter bar was a different scenario than being in a pack together and these shifters were definitely a pack. They smelled like one, moved like one, but Steve had never heard of an interspecies pack before. And one involving shifters who didn’t normally run in groups? His eyes drifted back to the man in the corner. He was sprawled out in the seat, slumped so low he was practically on the floor. He met Steve’s gaze and shrugged. “Kitsune,” he said, then amended, “or fox. Whichever. My grandma always called us the latter.” 

“He’s Japanese,” Dum Dum added, earning a glare from the fox. 

“I’m from Fresno. How many times do I have to tell you?” 

“You are still Japanese, non?” That from one of the men on the couch, in a heavy French accent. The man he was leaning against rolled his eyes. “Quoi?” 

“Lay off him, you asses,” Gabe rumbled, eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t funny the first time, it ain’t funny now.” 

“I’m American,” the fox snapped, before Gabe even finished speaking. His next words were directed at Steve.Don’t listen to anything they say. That one,” he pointed at Dum Dum, “was raised in a barn.” He waved a hand in the direction of the couch. “And he’s French.” 

“

He said this like it explained everything and the French wolf smiled derisively. “Baise ta mère.”

“Jacque,” his mate chided, accent reminding Steve of Peggy. 

“Let me have this one,” Jacque all but whines. “He insulted my entire country!” 

“Doesn’t mean you get to make aspersions about his mum. Plus, you were being an arse.” 

“Could we focus, please?” Silence fell so fast it was like someone had yanked the plug to a radio out of the wall and Steve pinned Dum Dum with a hard look. “You said you wanted to talk. So talk.” 

The large shifter leaned over the desk and punched the werebear in the shoulder. “What did I tell you, Gabe?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Gabe rolled his eyes. 

Dum Dum settled back in his seat and grinned at Steve. “We want you to be Alpha of our pack. Such as it is.” 

Steve was stunned into silence, his lips parted, but no sound came out. The man on the couch, the one with the thinner mustache and the British accent glared are Dum Dum. “You can’t just blurt something like that out. Maybe Jim is right and you really were raised in a barn. You Americans have no tact.” 

He nudged his mate until he was able to stand and stepped up to Steve. Chin tilted back slightly, he held his hand out. “James Montgomery Falsworth. Monty to my friends. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” 

Steve shook his hand, still feeling stunned. “Likewise,” he murmured. 

James continued to make my introductions. “My mate, Jacques Dernier. Gabe Jones. You know Dum Dum already. And the quiet one in the corner is Jim Morita.” 

Steve nodded at each in turn. As far as packs went, they were small. Not to mention the unorthodox nature of having a bear and a fox shifter in their ranks. But he was still finding it hard to believe that not only weren’t they asking him to leave their territory, which from the smells on the drive here seemed to be limited to a ten mile radius around the bar, but they wanted to make him Alpha?

“Right,” Monty pronounced. “No pressure or anything. But if you decide to decline it would be smashing if we could keep things civil. I haven’t been able to go to the Cove since you moved in and Peggy, that darling, is the only one round here who knows how to make a decent cup of tea.” 

“You stayed away because of me?” 

James’s brows popped up. “Well, yes.” 

“Why?” No other pack had ever been this… considerate. 

The other shifters all shared a look. It was Dum Dum who answered. “You’ve been marking the town up so strongly we thought you’d kick our asses if we tried to talk to you. Only reason I risked it now was because I was getting sick of dragging this out.” 

“Dum Dum’s an impatient sot,” Monty said and Dum Dum shrugged, nodding in agreement. 

“I didn’t realize I was doing that. I’m sorry.” Was it even possible to scent mark territory unconsciously? Apparently it was if these shifters were to be believed. Was it because of Bucky? Maybe he hadn’t taken conscious notice of his mate, but he could have picked up on subtle traces of his scent without knowing. The pull towards a fated mate was strong. His instincts might have known something his mind hadn’t wrapped itself around yet. 

“Nothing to apologize for,” Gabe told him. His brow furrowed. “How long have you been on your own?” 

Steve huffed a laugh. “Few decades.” Close to six, but who was counting? 

Dum Dum whistled. “That’s harsh.” 

“If I’ve learned anything by being around these three,” Jim piped up from his seat, “it’s that wolves don’t do well alone.” 

Jacques asked, “Why didn’t you find another pack?” 

“I tried, it just…” He trailed off, shook off the memories before they dragged him down. “It never worked.” 

Dum Dum snorted. “Probably scared of you. I almost shit my pants down at the docks.” 

He’d hidden it well. Steve had to say he was also surprised that anyone would have been scared of him enough to chase him off rather than take the chance of having him in their pack. Some days he still saw himself as the scrawny pup with weak lungs. He knew what he looked like now, the body he’d inhabited for more than half his life, but fighting wasn’t his first choice—he hated bullies and would defend himself. 

“Would have served you right, man,” Gabe teased, smirking at the red haired shifter. 

“Look, you can take the job or not,” Jim announced, standing and heading for the door. He stopped to look up at Steve. None of the deference the two wolves showed him was evident in the fox’s posture. “Either way you can stay here, we won’t give you any trouble. And you’re welcome to join the pack, Alpha or no. Doesn’t matter to me honestly. It’s those three who say we need one and-” 

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at James, Jacques and Dum Dum, then said, “Frankly, Dum Dum’s been shitting the bed where leadership is concerned.” With that he slipped out the door, leaving it ajar. 

Steve heard him mutter, “I need a drink,” as he walked down the hall. But he stopped halfway to say, almost reluctantly, “Hope to see you around,” before turning away. 


	5. Chapter 5

Steve had thought that maybe he was getting his hopes up where Bucky was concerned, after spending the morning at the farmers market, he was thinking he had been wrong. Steve had a run in with Lorraine and her special brand of flirting when he was heading back to Bucky’s booth with coffees. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed the human in his personal space before, but having Bucky witness it made him tense. 

Steve tried to back up as unobtrusively as possible, wanting to avoid a scene, except Lorraine either didn’t get the hint or didn’t care because she kept following until Steve had nowhere else to go unless he wanted to physically move her out of the way, his back hitting a support pole of a canopy over a fruit stand a few stalls down from Bucky’s table. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.” 

“Well, I, uh,” he stammered, wracking his brain for something to say that wasn’t “I kind of was.” 

“There you are,” Bucky said, appearing by his side out of nowhere. “Thought you got lost.” 

The words were directed at Steve, but Bucky was looking at Lorraine with narrow-eyed suspicion, one of his hands coming to rest on Steve’s arm. Bucky had never been shy about touching him, but this felt different somehow, and he raised his eyebrows. “I was just talking to Lorraine here. She works at the thrift store. Lorraine this is Bucky. He’s...” 

“His boyfriend,” Bucky declared when Steve trailed off, trying to think of what to say. His head whipped around. The other shifter took one of the coffees from Steve’s hand and pressed in close, free hand curved around the back of Steve’s neck. “Thanks, babe.” 

Then he was pulling Steve into a kiss. It’s messy and uncoordinated, as if Bucky doesn’t quite know what he’s doing but damned if he won’t try, and simultaneously the best kiss of Steve’s life. Distantly, Steve heard Lorraine huff, “Oh. Well. That explains a few things,” before walking off and thought it really, probably didn’t, but wasn’t about to separate his lips from Bucky’s long enough to talk to her about it. 

He was too busy sliding his hand into Bucky’s hair, upsetting his already messy bun, wrapping his other arm around being careful not to spill his coffee. Kissing Bucky was amazing, better than Steve thought and he had been thinking about it a lot. He was surrounded by him, his scent, his taste, the feel of his body. As much as Steve wanted it to go on forever, it had to stop eventually, because 1) they were standing in the middle of a walkway and 2) Steve kind of needed to breathe. Their lips separated, but they didn’t move apart otherwise, still standing in people’s way.

“What was that for?” 

“She was making you uncomfortable,” Bucky answered, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the skin below his ear. 

“There were other things you could have done.” Not that he was complaining, but Steve needed to know that it meant something to Bucky. 

Something fierce flared in his pale, blue eyes. “I didn’t like the way she was looking at you.” 

He asked the other question beating at his brain, voice just above a whisper. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer because he might be setting himself up. “And why did you say you were my boyfriend?” 

“Isn’t that the human equivalent of mates?” 

“You…” He trailed off, the rest of his words getting stuck in his throat. 

“I’ve known you were my mate since the first time I saw you, Steve,” Bucky said, lips quirking. His eyes dropped. “I didn’t know how to talk to you. I was scared you’d be disappointed because of the tail and the scales and all.” 

Steve cupped Bucky’s cheek, tipped his chin up so their eyes met. “Give me the chance and I’ll show you how  _ not _ disappointed I am, Buck.” 

Bucky’s smile was radiant. “Okay, Stevie.” 

The wait for Bucky to finish work had felt interminable. They kept sneaking glances at each other while Bucky sold his jewelry and Steve sat on top of a stone ledge, sketching Bucky in notebook he found at one of the other booths. Steve helped Bucky pack up his table and drop it all off at his storage unit. 

“How did you manage to rent this without an ID?” Steve had asked. Werewolves had birth certificates and social security numbers; Bucky didn’t even have a permanent address though Steve planned to fix that soon. 

“I have a fake one.” He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his skinny jeans and showed him. Well, that worked. He’d felt a pang when he saw the air mattress in one corner with a battery powered lantern and a stack of books piled next to it, thinking of him curled up on that mattress alone, reading by the weak light. He decided not to comment. 

They walked back to Steve’s room at the inn holding hands, Bucky pestering Steve until he showed him his sketches. He blushed when Bucky told him how good he thought they were. Now, Bucky was bouncing on Steve’s bed while he set up the movie and he couldn’t help but laugh at how much wonder the other shifter had about things Steve took for granted. 

“I got all the typical movie snacks since I wasn’t sure what you liked—popcorn, an assortment of candy, pretzel bites, nachos. It’ll take me a couple minutes to warm some of this up,” Steve said, turning around to face Bucky once the dvd was in queued up. “And I hope you’re okay with musicals because I found a copy of the Wizard of Oz and it was one of my favorite movies as a kid.” 

Bucky wasn’t bouncing on the bed anymore and he wasn’t smiling either. He had the shell necklace he wore around his neck resting in his palm. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” 

“This is for you.” He held the necklace out to Steve, the delicate shell dangling from his fist. His words were casual, but something that looked almost like fear was lurking in his eyes and Steve could tell he was trying to hide it. 

Steve sat next to him, hesitant to accept the proffered item. The energy in the room had shifted from carefree and hopeful and now Bucky was tense, with the mien of a man facing the gallows. He let Bucky drop the shell in his palm and cradled it, sensing immediately that contained some type of magic. It was almost pulsing against his shin. “What is it?”

“There’s a custom among my people. On the day we’re born, our mothers craft those for us, a pearl imbued with part of our life force placed inside a shell. On the day of our mating we exchange them, entrusting a part of ourselves to one another.” His eyes were roiling like a turbulent ocean when Steve looked into them. Bucky drew in a deep breath. “But if we mate with an outsider or it’s taken... One of the reasons we went into hiding was because humans started stealing them when they realized it allowed them to control us. We aren’t able to retrieve them ourselves, they have to be returned freely. Many of our people were lost this way, forced into a life of servitude.” 

“Bucky, I can’t take this,” Steve said, placing the necklace back in the other shifter’s hand, gently curling his fingers around it, as rage churned inside. He swallowed a growl at the thought of anyone doing that to someone one else, let alone Bucky or his family. Steve hadn’t met them yet, but Bucly was his mate and anyone important to him Steve would die to protect. 

Bucky let his hand fall in his in his lap and Steve watched as he deflated, pulling into himself until he looked so much smaller than he was. “Oh.” 

“Hey.” He was already messing up and he needed to fix it, now, or it would be over before it started. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky, ready to pull back if he wasn’t welcome, but Bucky only melted into him and Steve tightened the embrace, pulling Bucky into his lap. “I only meant I can wait until you trust me more. We don’t really know each other yet. I want you to know for sure that I’ll never hurt you.” 

Bucky shifted on Steve’s lap, straddling his thighs; Steve took it as a good sign and teased, “Plus, maybe I should meet your family before we basically get married?” 

Bucky laughed. “My sisters will love you. Does that mean I get to meet your family?” 

“I don’t have any family left, but I’d love for you to meet my pack. They’re a bit… unconventional, though,” he told Bucky thinking of the rag tag group of shifters. 

“Can’t wait.” 

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, Steve burying his nose in Bucky’s hair to get more of his sent. He had wanted today to be fun and relaxed, but talking about their future was important. When shifters mated, they tended to move fast, so it wasn’t unusual to meet and be living together a week later, but this was an unusual situation with them coming from two different worlds. It was going to be an adjustment for both of them, learning each other’s customs and personalities. Speaking of… “Buck?” 

“Hmm?” Bucky hummer against his neck. 

“What do you know about werewolves?” 

He lifted his head. “Not much. Why?” 

“Well, your people trade magic necklaces? Mine bite.” Steve caressed spot where Bucky’s neck neck met his shoulder. “It forms a bond. But if I bit you it would only be one way. You’d smell like me, which I like the idea of, and you could sense my emotions.” 

“But you wouldn’t be able to feel mine,” Bucky said. Steve shook his head even though it hadn’t been a question. “Does that bother you?” 

“No.” And it really didn’t. He couldn’t miss something he never had and it might make it easier for Bucky to trust that he wouldn’t abuse Bucky if he gave him his pearl one day. “I just want us to be together. I don’t care how.” 

“I want that, too.” Bucky chuckled and cupped his cheeks. “I never believed my mom when she said meeting your mate would be like this. I always thought it was children’s stories.” 

“Fairy tales.” He’d been thinking the same thing for decades, losing hope that he would ever have what his parents had. Their life might never be perfect, but it would be theirs. “Well, I don’t have a castle, but I can build you a house.” 

“A house? Really?” 

“Yeah. Somewhere on the water, so you can visit your family and they can have somewhere safe to come on land if they want.” Steve could have a garden and they’d need a pool because Steve wanted to be able to watch him swim. His hands went to Bucky’s hips. “I still haven’t seen your other form.” 

Bucky bit his lip. “I could shift now. But it’s easier in the water.” 

He raised a brow. The movie could wait. “I have an idea.” 

* * *

Bucky sat on the counter, watching Steve fill the bathtub. When the tub was half full, he hopped down and started taking his clothes off. When he was down to his pants, he paused with his hands on the button, looking at Steve from beneath his lashes. “You joining me?” 

It took half a second for him to decide that he’ll, yes, he was joining Bucky in the bathtub. The large garden tub had more than enough room for both of them. They sat with Bucky’s back pressed to Steve’s chest and when Bucky started to shift, Steve could feel the change. 

“Buck,” he breathed. His tail was so long that his caudal fin hung over the lip of the tub and it flexed a few times while Bucky shifted to get comfortable. The dorsal fin on the back of Bucky’s tail bruised the inside of his thigh, his scales slightly rough against Steve’s skin. They covered his hips, up his sides, but dipped low in a v on his abdomen, in shades of blue with white lines. The gills on the sides of his neck were edged in blue. When Steve ran a finger along them, Bucky shuddered. “Did that hurt?” 

“Felt good,” Bucky said, tipping his head to the side to give Steve more access. “They’re sensitive.” 

Steve dipped his head to press his lips to them, reveling in the moan Bucky let’s loose. He trailed kisses down his neck, hands tightening around Bucky’s hips when he rolled them, scale covered backside rubbing along his rapidly hardening dick. “You’re gorgeous.” 

“Don’t stop,” Bucky ordered. Steve went back to nipping at the skin he longed to sink his teeth into, laving it with his tongue. He smelled amazing, the scent of his arousal making Steve’s head spin. He wondered hazily where Bucky’s dick was and how he could get to it, but Bucky solved the problem by taking one of his hands and leading it to a slit where the gap between his thighs would be. He traced it with his thumb, worked his fingers inside and pulled Bucky’s length free. It was smooth in his hand, the water aiding his movements as he stroked Bucky from root to tip. 

Steve took his cues on how Bucky likes to be touched by listening to the cadence of his breathing, repeating the motions that had him pushing up into Steve’s hand, sending water cascading onto the tile floor. When Bucky came, spilling warm over Steve’s fingers, he dug the nails of one hand into Steve’s thigh, the other gripped Steve’s hair, Steve’s name on his lips. A growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, teeth pressing down at the base of his neck just shy of breaking the skin. He worked Bucky through his orgasm until went limp in arms, his fingers idly stroking Steve’s hair. 

He was hard enough to drive nails, but he was content holding Bucky. Bucky, it seemed, had other ideas. He wiggles until Steve loosens his arms enough for Bucky to turn. He shoots Steve a smirk, scrunches down, and ducks his head under the water. 

“Bucky, what are you—” He starts to say, but almost chokes on his damn tongue when his dick is enveloped in the wet heat of Bucky’s throat. And stays there because he can  _ breathe underwater.  _ The gills on the side of his neck flutter, but Steve’s eyes slide shut when Bucky swallows. He can feel his orgasm about to crash down on him embarrassingly fast, Bucky’s clever tongue circling the base of his dick, where his knot is starting to swell, too much. He makes an inarticulate sound in warning, not wanting to hurt him. Bucky pulls back enough to circle his knot with his fist, throat tightening around the head. His hands clench down so hard around the rim of the tub the porcelain cracks. He’ll feel bad about that later, he’s sure. 

When Bucky resurfaced, hand still milking his knot, Steve mumbles a “Sorry.” Bucky grunts, settling against his chest, continuing to work Steve through his orgasm.

“How long will this go on?” Bucky idly asks.

It’s been a while since Steve popped a knot, since trying to explain it to a human would have been next to impossible, but he had a general idea. “Maybe ten minutes?” If he’d been inside Bucky she it happened, it would have been longer and that though sets him off again, groaning, head killing back. 

“Okay,” Bucky whispered and peppering kisses along his neck. “Then we watch Wizard of Oz?” 

“Anything you want,” he vowed. 


	6. Epilogue

“Get your hand away from that unless you want to lose it,” Steve heard Bucky snarl when he walked into the sun room on the back of the house. He shook his head in fond exasperation and toed off his boots before entering the kitchen just in time to see Bucky smack Dum Dum’s hand with a wooden spoon. The larger shifter yelped, cradling his hand to his chest. As much as he wanted to laugh at the sight of big, scary wolf cowering from his mate, Steve held it back. It was not the time. Bucky was stressed out enough as it was with the mating ceremony taking place today. 

“Dum Dum, why don’t you go make sure there’s clothes for Bucky’s pod when they get here?” 

“You just want to get rid of me.” When Bucky’s scowl deepened, Dum Dum started for the back door Steve had just walked in. “And I’m going to let you. Consider it my mating present.” 

Bucky went back to stirring whatever was in the pot on the stove after the door slammed shut. Steve wrapped his arms around him from behind. “You nervous?” 

“No,” Bucky said then sighed. “A little.” 

“Me, too.” Steve pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s hair, left down because his sisters were going to style it for the ceremony. It had been hard to believe over the last year that this day would ever come. Finding the perfect place for their house has taken months—building it had been the easy part. Steve wouldn’t have changed a second of his time with Bucky, except to make things easier on his mate.

His pod had not taken the news of Bucky mating an outsider well, their leader forbidding anyone from talking to Bucky and it had broken Steve’s/ heart to see how upset Bucky was at the prospect of being separated from his people. Bucky’s sisters had snuck on shore to visit him almost immediately, rebelliousness obviously running in their family, their mother coming not long after. Steve gave them space to talk in the half finished house, opting to stay at the bar with the rest of his pack. The guys had been happy since Steve had started stress baking after learning Bucky had a sweet tooth and they reaped the benefits. 

Bucky called him two days later, telling him to come back and he’d been glommed onto by three mermaids, talking animatedly in a high pitched language that hurt Steve’s ears. He had laughed anyway, their joy infectious, meeting Bucky’s eyes over their heads, while his sister’s poked and prodded him. When he turned his head to Bucky’s mother he saw where his mate got his looks from. Same dark hair, though hers was longer and streaked with gray, same facial features—the only difference was her eyes, a tumultuous green that two of Bucky’s sister’s shared. 

She said something and her daughters moved away, surrounding Bucky, voices dropping to a whisper, and whatever they were saying had a blush staining his mate’s cheeks. His focus was dragged back to Bucky’s mother when her hands touched his face. He felt himself falling into her eyes, everything else fading away; it was like she was looking into his soul, sifting through everything that made him who he was. His lungs stuttered when she released him, eyes searching out Bucky again, because he was the lighthouse in a storm, his safe haven. His mother said something, touched their foreheads together, and when Bucky lifted his head there were tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. “She says we have her blessing, as long as you make me happy.” 

Steve had tried his damnedest to do so. The house was finished, they officially moved, and they barely had a moment to themselves before Steve’s pack (well, Bucky’s now, too) and, first, Bucky’s family then the rest of his pod (Bucky’s mother apparently had  _ pull  _ and they got over their objections) were invading the place like it was a second home. Hell, Dum Dum had passed out on their couch last night, broken up about a she-wolf from a nearby pack who was running him around by his nose. They hadn’t had the heart to kick them out, even though Bucky and Steve wanted to spend the night before their official mating alone, wrapped around each other so tightly they were one being. 

But Steve cooked them all breakfast and let Dum Dum mope on the couch while he shoveled a path from the dock to the back door so the mershifters didn’t have to slog through the two feet that fell the day before. But pausing Bucky off when he was trying to cook food to impress his people was not gonna fly, so he could mope in the porch instead. The rest of the pack would be there soon, and no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than there was scratching at the front door. 

Steve pressed one more kiss to the top of Bucky’s head and went to answer it. The door only cracked open a little before a streak of red fur squeezed through it, then Jim was standing in his living room, shivering, and grabbed a pair of sweats from the closet. 

“Did you run here?” 

“Car wouldn’t start,” Jim grumped once he was dressed. “Where’s Tim? Saw his truck out front.” 

“Sun room,” Steve answered falling in step next to the smaller shifter. Jim was the only one who didn’t call Dum Dum by his nickname. 

Jim smirked. “Tried to stick his fingers in something Bucky was making?” 

“Yup.” 

“Still sad about that girl?” 

“Yup.” 

Jim grunted. “I’ll talk to him. Hey, Bucky.” 

He walked out onto the back porch without another word. Jim had been the one Steve was most worried about when he joined the pack. Dum Dum was full of bluster and his love life was a disaster, but he was fine. Gabe stuck around because he wanted to—bears didn’t need packs, usually liked being alone, and while Gave was quiet and disappeared for long stretches, he always came back, with his quiet strength and easy smiles. Monty and Jaque bickered like the old mated couple they were, but they loved each other more than anything and Steve knew he could count on them in a pinch. The two had adopted an orphaned pup a few months back. 

But Jim was withdrawn and angry on the best day, and had Steve not gotten to know him better, he would have thought he didn’t want to be part of the pack at all. Turned out he was the one who needed it the most. Foxes stayed with their families, in small groups, their entire lives, but Jim’s den was attacked when he was barely more than a kit. He was alone until he joined the army and met Gabe and Dum Dum. He needed the safety of a group, but he was scared of losing his family again. It was a constant struggle to get him to feel comfortable enough to relax and trust that the pack, small as they were, would keep everyone safe. 

“He seems better,” Bucky said and Steve turned away from the porch door where he could see the back of Jim and Dum Dum’s heads, sitting on the chairs facing the water. 

“He does.” He wrapped his arms around Bucky where he leaned against the counter, the stove now shut off, the pots covered with lids. His mate got frustrated by the pack dropping by unannounced (mostly Dum Dum), but he cared about them deeply. Steve didn’t know what he had done to get so lucky—he felt like he won the mate lottery. Bucky was still tense, the muscles of his back stiff under Steve’s hands. “It’s going to be fine. They wouldn’t come all this way just to start trouble.” 

“Yeah,” he said against Steve’s chest, but he didn’t sound all that convinced. Bucky’s pod might have stopped ostracizing him for his choice to live on land, but today would be the first time all of them came to visit, to attend their mating ceremony. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want. We can wait.” The thought that Bucky was deciding to give Steve his pearl because he felt obligated still lurked at the back of his mind. 

Bucky smacked him on the shoulder, lifting his head to glared you at him. “I can’t wait until you bite me and I can sense what you’re feeling so I can tell you to stop being an idiot. I wouldn’t have said I wanted to do this if I didn’t. I want to belong to you.” 

“We belong to each other. You know that right?” Steve lifted the shell that hung around Bucky’s neck. “Me having this doesn’t change that. You can have it back whenever you want.” 

Bucky’s hand closed over top of his, lips curving. “Of course I do, you idiot.” 

Their lips met, but the kiss was awkward from their laughing. Out on the porch, they heard Dum Dum bellow, “Hey, Winnifred,” to Bucky’s mom. Bucky dropped his head with a groan. 

“It’s going to be fine.” 

“How do know that?” Bucky asked, sounding adorably grumpy. 

Don’t laugh, he thought, but he was all seriousness when he told Bucky, “Because we’re together.” 

When Bucky looked up at him, he added, “Besides, we only need to deal with everyone for a few hours and then we can kick them all out.” 

Nothing ever seemed as bad when they were wrapped up in each other's arms, laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. Steve had struggled for so many years, but finally the future looked bright. 


End file.
